


Thoughts on Tar-Aldarion's Funeral

by 2Nienna2



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Worldbuilding, funeral rites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Nienna2/pseuds/2Nienna2
Summary: Tar-Ancalimë thinks about her messy relationship with her father in the wake of his death, as well as her experiences growing up and into a female political figure, and about how she is not allowed to prepare his funeral.
Relationships: Tar-Aldarion & Tar-Ancalimë (past)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Thoughts on Tar-Aldarion's Funeral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dialux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/gifts).



Tar-Ancalimë’s father was dead. Soon all of Númenor would know. At this very moment, messengers were speeding across the island with the news. 

She had watched him die, had spoken to him. She was grateful for having been allowed this paltry comfort, as any interaction with his dead body was strictly forbidden. 

She was a woman, and thus impure for this job. It wasn’t so much that she resented men and women having different roles. It was more that she often found the reasoning behind the particular laws and roles unfounded, and grew angry that they could not be broken. So maybe she did resent it.

Most of all, she resented that she could not prepare her father’s body, could not salt it and clean it and lovingly rub it with oil before lowering it to the soil. ( _It. She still could hardly think of him, and his body, in such a way)_. Could not lead the call and response prayers begging for his spirit’s safe flight, and for her — and the other mourners’ — recovery. 

She could not even sing the prayers in full voice, could not sing loud enough so that others would hear, for it might tempt the men. At her own father’s funeral, she would have to remain quiet, voice never rising above a whisper, or else sung so low, so far below her natural range that it blended with the men around her. She found  _ that _ tradition to be idiotic. But then again, she had long ago rejected the possibility of being sexually interested in men, so perhaps she could never understand the reasoning.

She had loved her father very much, in a conflicted yet passionate way. It might surprise others to know just how much, for she was often made out to be a cold-hearted, overly logical, and distant queen. This was true in some ways: she was not especially inclined to show emotions. But this was certainly not because she didn’t feel them. She cared very deeply, about everything. She thought her reticence to show emotion arose mostly out of fear. Even when she was young, she saw how peoples’ eyes changed when she reacted the ‘wrong’ way or about the wrong thing. So she hid behind a guise of logic and impartiality. When asked for an opinion, she would reason aloud what made the most sense, or wobble back and forth - for Eru forbid if someone discovered her true feelings! They would only use it against her.

As she grew older, she had slowly but surely stepped out of the mask, allowed herself to behave truly, especially with those she loved and felt comfortable with. But she knew that many people thought a female leader would be ruled only by emotion, heard the snide remarks as she took to the throne, the voices of others in the city. So she overcompensated, and stepped back into her old patterns of behavior so thoroughly they painted over the new person she had become. She was sad about that, but couldn’t hold onto regrets. It would be worth it if her political plans came to fruition. And sometimes, when she was with her handmaidens or with her close family, she would let how she was feeling show. There could only be overarching patterns; no one was just one thing. She was glad of that. 

To say that her father had not been perfect was an understatement. He had left her and her mother alone for many years in a row when she was a young woman. She had grown up watching them fight, or with him not being there, or occasionally with him present when everyone was on edge. He had, at one time, disavowed her as his daughter, and her mother as his wife. She had screamed and cried, spent many years angry at him, banishing him from her memory. But in later life he had repented and apologized, and told her how deeply she was loved. And she understood what it was like to want something so badly that you’d break all bonds to have it - yes, even in ways that seemed cruel. 

He seemed to understand too, and not only that, but he wanted it to be easier for her. So he changed the laws so that she could be queen. He heard of her desire, and not only desire but concrete plans, and made it happen, supported her every step of the way. So her image of him was two-pronged, at one hand love and understanding like she had had with no one else, and at the other, absence and betrayal and anger. Her mother was still angry at him, this she knew. But Tar-Ancalimë wasn’t. His long absences over her childhood had helped to form her into who she was, for good or ill. And now that he was gone, she could scarcely believe that this time it was forever.

She never again would see him, unless in the great unknown of her after-days. She prayed it would be a very long time until that occurred. She had so much she yet wanted to accomplish! 

She hoped her father would discover new joys and loves and things she could not imagine in the after-world, that maybe it would satiate some of his longings. And that his body would break down with grace, whatever that meant for forms as fragile as theirs. She would pray fervently for these things. 

Although she knew it was the way it must be, it stung not to be able to prepare his funeral.


End file.
